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There's more in one soft word of thine
Its boughs above a monument.
The winds might rend-the skies might pour,
But there thou wert-and still wouldst be Devoted in the stormiest hour
To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. But thou and thine shall know no blight, Whatever fate on me may fall;
For Heaven in sunshine will requite
The kind-and thee the most of all. Then let the ties of baffled love
Be broken-thine will never break; Thy heart can feel-but will not move;
Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. And these, when all was lost beside,
Were found and still are fixed in thee;And bearing still a breast so tried,
Earth is no desert - ev'n to me.
1. And thou wast as a lovely Tree
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
END OF VOL. III.
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